Humble Beginnings

Riding shotgun with my dad was never the most sentimental memory I cherished of the countryside. Looking back at it now, I wasn't exactly fond of it either… 

Why that was, well, I was wondering that too myself - that was until I buckled myself into the passenger seat, that's when I finally remembered why.

It's 'cause the truck freaking stunk to high heaven. 

The moment I made the rookie mistake of breathing, I was blasted with tear gas. The smell of ash, of smoke, the lingering trace of nicotine soaked into the seat paddings… I haven't a clue how Sammy bears it, always wanting to sit next to him.

His truck was his mancave. I'd catch him dead before I ever caught him smoking inside the house. Anytime he was nowhere to be found, I could always count on seeing that faint cloud of white seeping out from the driver-side window.